


Open your heart to me, if only for the night.

by youlooksodivine



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Developing Relationship, Drunken Confessions, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, First Time, Forehead Kisses, Heart-to-Heart, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Middle Earth, Outdoor Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youlooksodivine/pseuds/youlooksodivine
Summary: When two weary travellers meet, they find unexpected solace in each other.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 18
Kudos: 183





	1. The Prancing Pony.

Legolas was no stranger to the woods.

He travelled soundlessly through the trees, listening to the wildlife around him; birds flying from their nests, squirrels darting through the branches, bees buzzing around their hives. Legolas was as sure-footed as any Elven prince should be. He knew the woods like the back of his hand. Every step, every turn; there were no surprises to his keen eyes and ears. 

Legolas came to a stop. He listened to the distant water rushing over stones. He followed the sound until he reached the edge of the trees, which opened to a small stream. He could nearly taste the fresh water on his tongue. Legolas began to walk towards the stream, but stopped dead in his tracks.

He wasn't alone. 

There was a handsome brown horse stooped by the edge of the stream. Beside him was a Man, tall and broad, with stringy brunette hair that fell into the dark grooves of his face. Legolas retreated behind a tree and watched the stranger. He was dressed in Northern clothing. A Ranger. He stood beside his horse, speaking softly and patting its side.

Legolas nocked an arrow and aimed for the Ranger. However, as he emerged from the trees, a twig snapped underneath his foot. The Ranger spun around quickly. He didn't have time to unsheathe his sword, as he stared at the sharp end of the arrow, which was only inches from his face.

"Who are you?" Legolas asked curiously. He vaguely recognized the Ranger's face.

"I'll tell you when you lower your weapon."

"I've seen you before." Legolas frowned, lowering his bow. "You're . . . Estel . . . yes, I remember, now. You were fostered by Lord Elrond from Rivendell. You're a Man. A Ranger of the North."

Despite the arrow being dangerously close to his throat, Estel showed no fear. "Prince Legolas," he said coolly, "you are the son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm of Northern Mirkwood."

"I suppose we have no need for introductions," Legolas said. They stared intensely at each other, Legolas with a smile, Estel with a frown. They had never spoken before, but they had seen each other. Legolas remembered clearly now: their encounter took place years ago, when Estel entered the Mirkwood gates with the sickly creature called Gollum, on the request of Gandalf the Grey. Legolas had seen Estel from the opposite end of the hall. He had allowed his gaze to wander longer than he should have, as there was no denying that Estel was an attractive Man, with defined features and a courageous way about him. Legolas had been drawn to him instantly.

Now, years later, standing at the edge of the stream, Legolas saw that Estel hadn't changed. He lowered his bow. "What brings you so close to the Shire?"

"Nothing. I'm merely travelling," Estel said coldly. He clearly didn't trust Legolas.

"How remarkable!" Legolas said. "I'm travelling, myself. Where are you headed?"

"Wherever my horse takes me."

Legolas looked at his horse. He offered another smile. "Unless you wish for the company of Hobbits, I invite you to travel with me."

"I don't wish for company."

"Oh?" Legolas tried again. "Your horse looks to be in dire need of rest. Perhaps, if you spend the night here, I can keep watch. There is no telling what dangers lurk in the woods. My Elven eyes may prove to be useful." He was thrilled to see Estel falter at his words. It was subtle, but Legolas caught Estel look away, only for a moment, before returning his gaze. 

"I'mm grateful, but I don't need help."

Legolas didn't bother to hide his triumphant smile. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, knowing that Estel would follow. "I was merely offering. However, as I'm a foreigner to these parts, I should ask you: where can I find good wine? And, perhaps, a place to spend the night? Someplace warm?"

Estel nudged his head towards the opposite end of the stream. "About an hour by foot, you'll find the village of Bree. There are inns for Men and Hobbits. I'm sure they will accept an Elf. As for wine, theirs does _not_ compare to wine from Dorwinion."

"I shall head to Bree. Thank you, Estel. I bid you well in your travels." With that said, Legolas nodded and stepped into the stream, which was deep only to his ankles. He knew Estel was watching him and he wouldn't let him go too far. Sure enough, Legolas hardly reached the opposite bank when Estel called to him.

"You may get lost."

Legolas stopped. He wiped the smile from his face before facing Estel, who was already taking the reins of his horse. 

"I made it this far," Legolas said. Estel shook his head. He mounted his horse and crossed the stream, stopping beside Legolas.

"The sun has nearly set. As you said, there's no telling what dangers lurk in the woods. I shall accompany you to Bree. I know the most hospitable inns, and I am sure you would prefer to rest your feet and travel by horse."

"Are you suggesting that I ride with you?" Legolas asked innocently, wanting to toy with him.

Estel was aware of the game he was playing, but he wouldn't admit it. He didn't want to _lose_.

"My horse is strong," Estel said. He extended his hand. Legolas took it and mounted the horse, fastening his legs behind Estel and holding onto his waist. He could tell by his heady scent that Estel had been travelling for weeks; he smelled of thicket, sweat, and Man. It made something inside of Legolas squirm.

Estel tugged on the reins and the horse propelled them into the woods. They rode in silence.

* * * 

When Legolas and Estel arrived at Bree, the sun had fallen behind the mountains and the sky had turned deep orange, with the promise of near night. They secured the horse in a stable and found an inn.

"Have you been here before?" Legolas asked, looking at the wooden sign above the door. It swung in its rusty hinges. _The Prancing Pony_.

"Many times," Estel said. "Not many travellers here; mostly locals. We may attract unwanted attention, though few would dare cross a Ranger."

Legolas caught the boast. Estel wasn't being arrogant, by any means. He was proving that he was capable of handling himself; he was a force to be reckoned with. Legolas followed Estel inside. If he was lucky, he might see the Ranger in action.

The Prancing Pony was crammed from wall to wall. Patrons spoke jovially with each other as they enjoyed hearty meals and toasted over pints. The place smelled of mead and old wood. Legolas had never been in a place like The Prancing Pony, and he was not sure if he liked it.

"Two rooms," Estel said, approaching the counter.

The innkeeper, a sturdy man with a greying beard, shook his head. "I'm afraid we're nearly booked full. We have one room. Mind you, it's got a big bed and a nice view of the street outside. You and your companion should be very comfortable," he added, seeing Legolas.

"We'll take the room, as well as a pint for me and wine for my companion," Estel said. He set a handful of coins on the counter.

Legolas chuckled to himself. _Companion_.

"No problem. Take a seat, if you can find one. It's good to see you, Strider."

Estel and Legolas weaved through the crowded room and found a small table near the backmost corner. The innkeeper approached them a moment later with their drinks, but didn't linger for idle conversation. He left Estel and Legolas alone.

Estel drank nearly all of his mead at once. He set the glass on the table with a satisfying _thud_ and pulled a pipe from his pocket, which he stuffed with Pipe-weed, set between his teeth, and lit the end with a match. Legolas watched him, interested. 

"Sweet Galenas," Estel said. "That's what we Dúnedain call it. Southlinch is grown in Bree. You might've seen it outside."

"I wouldn't know. Elves don't smoke," Legolas said. He took his wine and swirled it gently in its glass. The colour was off-red and the smell was not as sweet as it should have been. He brought it to his lips and drank. The taste was no better. "You were right about the wine. It doesn't compare to Dorwinion."

Estel smiled for the first time. His complexion changed drastically; he had been so aloof, distant, almost threatening, but now, his face had filled with friendly colour. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight, and propped his feet onto the table. "Elves love their drink," he mused, "nearly as much as Hobbits love their breakfast and Men love their smoke."

"I would like to try."

Estel raised his eyebrows.

"I've never tried," Legolas went on, sounding sure of himself.

Estel pulled the pipe from his teeth and handed it to Legolas. "Be my guest."

The pipe was lighter than Legolas expected. He smelled the smoke and understood why Estel called it Sweet Galenas. He tentatively suckled on the end, causing the Pipe-weed to burn and the smoke to enter his mouth and throat. It was unbearable. Legolas pulled the pipe away and cleared his throat, shaking his head. "You make it look much easier," he said, his voice rough. He handed the pipe back to Estel.

"It's an acquired taste," Estel said, sticking the pipe effortlessly into his mouth. "I'm impressed you didn't cough."

Legolas nursed his wine, ridding his mouth of the unpleasant, smoky taste. He gazed at Estel over the rim of his glass; he was staring out the window as he puffed contentedly on his pipe. Legolas wondered what sort of thoughts went through his head. As he watched Estel closely, he decided that he wanted to know every secret he had. The interest he had taken in Estel years ago in Mirkwood had not changed; he was drawn to him, bound to him, _obsessed_ with him.

Legolas would have to start simple.

"Why did the innkeeper call you Strider?" He asked. 

"That's what I'm known by," Estel answered, without looking at Legolas. 

"Why give yourself more than one name?"

"These names were given to me by others. I took no part."

"And your true name?" Legolas pressed.

Finally, Estel looked at him. His gaze was not as cold as it was at the stream. Perhaps it was the warmth of The Prancing Pony, or the mead, or the Pipe-weed, but Legolas saw the change in Estel. He liked it immensely. He didn't break his gaze as Estel lowered his pipe, finished his pint, and wiped the foam from his lips. He rose to his feet. His chair scraped against the floor. "You are a very curious Elf."

"And you are a very mysterious Man," Legolas returned. Estel snorted. He left the table in search of more mead.

Legolas saw that Estel had left his pipe on the table. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the end, where Estel had held the pipe with his lips. Where else had his lips been, other than against the rim of a glass of mead? Legolas brought the pipe to his mouth, but didn't smoke. He could almost taste Estel's lips.

Estel returned. He set two glasses of mead on the table. 

"If you don't smoke," he said, "surely, you can drink."

"Wine," Legolas corrected.

"The wine here is horrible. The mead, however, speaks for itself."

They each took a glass and tapped them together in cheers. Together, they drank.

* * * 

Elves, though known for their love for wine, had a tolerance to the substance much greater than that of Men, Hobbits, and even Dwarves. It was the fine taste of spiced wine that Elves adored, not the lightheadedness that followed. Legolas was therefore amused when Estel, the great and noble Ranger, met his match as he downed a dozen pints of mead and the rest of Legolas's wine. 

"Can you walk?" Legolas asked. Estel was hunched over the table, waving his pipe in his hand. The Pipe-weed had long since been burned.

"I can walk!" Estel declared. "I have legs, do I not?"

"I didn't ask if you had legs," Legolas said, laughing. He circled around the table and pocketed the pipe for safekeeping. He brought one of Estel's arms around his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. 

"What are you doing?" Estel asked drunkenly. His breath reeked of mead.

"I'm helping you upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"To rest, Estel."

"I don't need rest!"

"I think you do," Legolas said. He guided Estel across the inn, earning several strange looks from the other patrons. It must have been a rare sight to see an Elven prince carrying a drunken Ranger through The Prancing Pony. Legolas nodded and smiled, showing they were friendly, and carried on his way. 

It was a challenge to climb the stairs, but Legolas managed to reach the upstairs of the inn without Estel toppling over. He found the only vacant room and kicked the door open with his foot, dragging Estel inside. He didn't mind Estel leaning his entire body weight on him. He had to remind himself that Estel was drunk. He _needed_ the support. If he were sober, he wouldn't consider holding Legolas so indelicately. 

"Do you want help with your boots?" Legolas asked, lowering Estel onto the bed.

Estel didn't hear him. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. Legolas laughed again. He bent down and removed Estel's boots, one at a time, and placed them neatly at the foot of the bed. He then removed Estel's sword and leaned it against the wall. Legolas swept his eyes over Estel, wondering if he dared remove his clothes. 

He decided against it. 

As Legolas tugged the blanket free and placed it over him, Estel mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

"Did you say something?" Legolas asked, fully aware there was no use talking to someone who was asleep. He tucked the blanket over Estel, who mumbled again. This time, Legolas brought his ear near his mouth, listening.

" _Aragorn_."

"Come again?" 

"Aragorn . . . son of Arathorn . . . that's my true name." 

Legolas gazed tenderly at Aragorn's sleeping face. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur . . . heir to the throne of Gondor. Somehow, none of this made a difference to Legolas. He had met his fair share of royal blood; some were conceited, some were blind with power, some were humble and fair. None, however, were quite like Aragorn, who spent his days riding the woods of Middle-earth with nothing but a sword, a pipe, and the clothes on his back.

Legolas couldn't help himself. He ran his fingers affectionately through Aragorn's hair.

"Aragorn," he whispered, the name sweet on his lips, "I shall see you in the morning. Sleep well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mad respect to anyone else who has attempted to write a Tolkien fanfic. The amount of lore surrounding The Hobbit and LOTR has me shooketh. Not gonna lie, Orlando Bloom had NO BUSINESS being that pretty in LOTR (he was honestly my only motivation to write this).  
> This fic is relatively lore-less. I did some research to make it seem like I know what I am talking about (make everything seem fancy pants) but I am writing this based on what I remember from reading The Hobbit, recently watching LOTR, and some basic Wiki searches. If you are a geek and want to call me out, feel free.  
> Otherwise, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!


	2. At the Edge of the River.

"Must you open the curtains so early?"

Legolas chuckled as he watched Aragorn climb out of bed and rub his greasy face. There were dark circles under his eyes, stubble across his chin, and the scent of mead still lingered in his clothes. It was clear how he had spent the night. 

"It's nearly noon. How do you feel?" Legolas asked.

"Like an axe went through my head," Aragorn said, massaging his temples.

"I suggest we leave soon. I was given the impression last night that Elves aren't welcomed here."

"I'll deal with them," Aragorn said, slipping into his boots. 

"I would rather settle things peacefully. Come downstairs, when you're ready." Legolas left the room and descended the staircase. The Prancing Pony was much quieter now. There were few patrons, all of them as groggy as Aragorn. They cowered at their lone tables, hunched over steaming mugs of tea. Through the windows, Legolas saw villagers walking about, stopping and greeting each other as they passed. 

"How was your stay?" The innkeeper asked. He stood behind the counter, polishing glasses.

"Pleasant, thank you."

"We don't get your folk down here. What brings you to Bree?"

"I was merely passing by," Legolas answered. He walked around The Prancing Pony, inspecting the decorations on the walls. "It's very nice here."

The innkeeper made a not-so-modest sort of sound. "This place has been passed down through my family. I'm the fifth generation, my son will be the sixth. If you want, I can whip you up something to eat. I know it's lunchtime, but I can fry up some eggs and bacon. Make you a nice breakfast. How does that sound?"

"That would be lovely," Legolas said gratefully. "Something for my companion, as well?"

"So be," the innkeeper said. He disappeared into the kitchen. Before long, the smell of eggs and bacon wafted through the room. Legolas wrinkled his nose. We wasn't accustomed to eating such greasy foods, but his stomach was empty. It would have to do. He sat at the counter and pulled the pipe from his pocket. Instead of sleeping during the night, he had played with the pipe in his hands and ran the end of it along his lips, pretending to smoke. It wasn't the pipe that intrigued him, but the smell of Pipe-weed and Aragorn. 

The innkeeper set two plates on the counter. Poached eggs with bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and a stack of buttered toast. 

"Do Men eat this every morning?" Legolas asked. The innkeeper laughed. It was a warm and booming sound that shook the room. The patrons begrudgingly covered their ears. 

"It's a traditional breakfast," the innkeeper said, "more for special occasions and guests. This doesn't compare to a Hobbit breakfast, though. They've got first breakfast and second breakfast, first lunch and second lunch, tea time, and so on."

"They must have quite the appetite," Legolas said. He stabbed an egg, letting the yolk ooze out. "Tell me, what do you know about my companion?"

A dark look fell over the innkeeper. "Strider, you mean?"

Legolas nodded. The innkeeper sighed. He filled a glass with water and handed it to Legolas, who muttered his thanks.

"He comes around here every so often. He usually orders a pint, sits himself down in the corner, lights his pipe, and doesn't say a word. Not the talking type, I reckon. Lots of stories about him slaughtering Orcs, doing all sorts of dangerous stuff. Don't know if it's true or not. I'll tell you one thing." The innkeeper beckoned Legolas close. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Wherever he goes, trouble follows. We try our best to steer clear of him. We don't want no trouble around here."

"Trouble?" Legolas repeated grimly. The innkeeper nodded gravely. 

Legolas heard the stairs creak as somebody entered the room. He turned and smiled, seeing Aragorn appear beside him.

"We have a thief in our midst," Aragorn said, looking at his pipe on the counter. 

"I forgot I had it," Legolas replied. "Hungry?"

"Starved." Aragorn helped himself to the breakfast. The innkeeper kept his head bowed and didn't look away from polishing glasses.

"Where do you propose we go?" Legolas asked, watching Aragorn swallow a whole fried mushroom.

"I was thinking South-East towards the Coast. The weather there is worth the distance."

"The Coast it is," Legolas said. 

After finishing their breakfasts and bidding farewell to the innkeeper, Aragorn and Legolas collected their horse and left the quaint village of Bree. There was nothing but sunshine and the open meadows ahead of them.

* * * 

"You never did tell me why you were travelling," Legolas said.

Aragorn and Legolas rode across an open stretch of meadow. It was a warm, windless day. Wild flowers popped out of the ground, attracting small rodents and insects. The sky shone bright and cloudless above them.

"Neither did you," Aragorn replied. Legolas smiled. He held Aragorn by his waist. He didn't _need_ to hold on, as the horse had slowed to a trot, but he liked the rough fabric of the tunic between his fingers.

"My father suggested I find my way outside of Mirkwood," Legolas answered. "I needed a change of . . . scenery."

"Somehow, I take it that you don't speak of the trees."

Legolas chuckled and shook his head. He tightened his fingers around the tunic, grazing the skin underneath. "You know me too well. No, not the trees. I had taken interest in another. She didn't take such interest in me."

"Did she favour another Elf?" 

"No. A Dwarf."

"A Dwarf?" Aragorn said, surprised. 

"He was brave and admirable," Legolas admitted. "She didn't love him without reason."

"What was her name?"

Legolas remembered her red hair, her fair skin, and her fine, green dress. He had been so fond of her. Now, she was nothing more than a name of the past; one that would hardly be thought of, but never forgotten. Legolas was glad that Aragorn showed so much interest. He was more than willing to tell him anything he wished. "Tauriel. However, what I felt for her was far from love. Only infatuation. Childish and short-lived."

"I thought Elves didn't know of love," Aragorn said. Legolas heard the smile in his voice. 

"Elves know greatly of love. What about you? Can the same be said for Men?"

"Every day, I ask myself that very question."

"Surely, a promising Man such as yourself has experienced love?" Legolas said, silently congratulating himself on complimenting Aragorn without seeming foolish. While he waited for Aragorn to respond, he focused his tunic. He could spend an eternity with his fingers pressing against the thin fabric, sometimes grazing the skin underneath, just gently enough to blame the movements of the horse rather than his own desire.

"Arwen," Aragorn said quietly.

"The daughter of Lord Elrond?" 

"The very same. I was young when I met her. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. We spent many seasons together in Rivendell. Now, she claims to love me . . . but I don't know if I can return her love." There was something in his voice that sounded a lot like sadness, and Legolas didn't like hearing Aragorn speak this way. He placed his hand on his back, showing his concern.

"Why do you doubt yourself, Aragorn?" Legolas asked gently.

Aragorn stiffened. He turned his head towards Legolas, but didn't directly look at him. "How do you know my name?" 

"You told me before you fell asleep."

"Did I tell you anything else?"

"Only your true name."

Aragorn faced forwards again. "Are you sure?"

"I swear it with my life," Legolas said. He held the fabric again. "Tell me about Arwen."

"There's nothing more to tell," Aragorn said. Legolas heard the finality in his tone. He thought frantically of how to keep him speaking, but their conversation slipped away from him like smoke through his fingers. He would have to try again another time.

"You need not fear to open your heart," Legolas said. "In the many years that I have been alive, that's one thing I have learned. Hearts are not meant to be kept closed."

"My heart?" Aragorn said. He laughed, though there was no humour in it. "How should I trust you with it, when I cannot trust myself?"

Their conversation, whatever it was, had ended. Legolas said nothing else.

"I think there is a river ahead," Aragorn said. "I should wash my clothes. I still smell of mead."

"Indeed you do," Legolas said. Aragorn laughed. It was more genuine than before. 

* * * 

They found the river at the end of the meadow. It was large but serene, with calm waves lapping against the rocky shore. 

"Do you see anyone?" Aragorn asked. He dismounted the horse, patted its head, and made his way to the river on foot. Legolas gazed as far as he could. The river pierced the meadow like a crack in a clay pot. There were grassy hills on the shore opposite, shrouded with thicket and brightly-coloured flowers.

"Nobody," Legolas said. "Though, I cannot see over those hills."

Aragorn followed his gaze across the river. 

"There is a bridge," Legolas went on, "not far from here. We can make it to the trees by nightfall. What are you doing?" He looked at Aragorn, who kicked off his boots without bothering to untie them, tore out of his tunic, and began to loosen the string around his trousers.

"What does it look like?" Aragorn retorted. Once undressed, he walked into the water and submerged himself completely. When he resurfaced, his hair stuck to the sides of his face. He rubbed the grime from his skin, ran his fingers through his scalp, and submerged himself again. 

Legolas dismounted the horse and perched himself on a small boulder, watching Aragorn as he bathed. His olive skin was marked with scars; some big, some small, some jagged, and some faded. Legolas wondered how he had gotten them. His chest and arms were covered sparsely with hair, but it didn't hide his strong muscles underneath, which moved gracefully as he scrubbed his body clean.

"It isn't customary to stare," Aragorn said. "You haven't taken your eyes off me."

"I don't intend to," Legolas said casually. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Man without clothes?"

"I have seen naked Men, though their bodies don't compare to yours."

"Was that a compliment or an insult?" Aragorn asked dryly.

"What do you think?"

They stared at each other. Legolas recognized they were playing their game once more; trying to read the other without revealing too much. Legolas had won the game at the stream, and he planned to win again. A heavy silence settled between them, but Legolas didn't break it. Perched on the boulder, he quite literally had the higher ground, and he was clothed and clean, unlike Aragorn, who stood defenseless in the river. Legolas put on a smile and shook his head. Why wasn't Aragorn giving up? Legolas had made his statement, loud and clear. He _wanted_ Aragorn. There was nothing either of them could do about it.

Suddenly, without breaking his gaze, Aragorn rose to his full height, revealing his hard cock. 

Legolas felt his mouth falling open and he shut it quickly. Too quickly. 

He had lost the game. 

Aragorn slowly walked out of the river. Drops of water rolled down the impossible curves of his body. He approached Legolas and stood before him, daring him to look anywhere else other than his eyes. Legolas swallowed thickly. Aragorn was using his arousal as a weapon and, to neither of their amazement, it was working. His cock stood defiantly, mere inches from Legolas, from his _mouth_ , which craved the taste of Aragorn, but he was too stunned to consider it.

"Pass my clothes?" Aragorn asked. 

Legolas reached backwards and grabbed the tunic and trousers. He handed them to Aragorn. 

"Thank you."

Aragorn retreated to the riverbank, where he scrubbed his clothes against the rocks, washing out the smell of mead. Legolas watched him, but he no longer smiled. Not only had Aragorn won, he had flaunted his victory, not for the sake of demonstrating his new power, but reminding Legolas of his crushing defeat . . . and Legolas wasn't used to losing.


	3. The Sounds of the Night.

Night had fallen.

Aragorn and Legolas found a small clearing among the trees. As Legolas tended to the fire, Aragorn sat near his horse, smoking from his pipe. Legolas could feel his stare as he worked. He wanted to look up and show Aragorn he knew that he was staring, he _liked_ that he was staring, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He had lost their game at the river. Aragorn wasn't making an advance, as much as he was basking in his triumph.

"I always preferred night over day," Aragorn said.

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked. He kept his gaze fixed on the fire. 

"Well," Aragorn grunted, shifting into a more comfortable position, "there are fewer travellers. Less trouble. Listen to the night, Legolas."

Legolas listened. Without their voices, the woods around them came to life through sound; there was a chorus of crickets chirping, owls calling to their mates, trees swaying in the wind and, in the distance, wolves howling to the moon. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Aragorn asked.

"I've heard better."

"Really? Mirkwood at night, Bree at night. There's no difference."

"There's a vast difference!" Legolas said. "If you were given two Men, would you consider them the same? Of course not. They may look the same. They may sound the same. They may both have two eyes, two arms, two legs. They may think they are both the best of all Men. But, despite this, they are different."

"How are they different?"

"Simple. One may stray to good, the other may stray to evil. One may grow to be a king, the other may grow to be a peasant. No two Men are the same, nor are two nights, or two leaves, or two stones." 

A pregnant pause followed Legolas's words. Aragorn climbed to his feet, brushed the grass from his bottom, and approached Legolas. He stood uncomfortably close. Legolas continued to stare at the fire, unsure if they were playing their game, or if Aragorn was once again showing off. His heart quickened in his chest. He braced himself for what was to come.

Aragorn squatted beside Legolas, lowering himself to his height. "Rest. The fire is well-tended."

Legolas looked at Aragorn, who offered a small smile. He meant well. The game was over.

Legolas backed away from the fire and sat cross-legged, close enough to feel its warmth. Aragorn returned to his spot near his horse. He continued smoking his pipe. Legolas was now the one to stare, as he watched Aragorn intently, captivated by each of his small, insignificant movements; puffing smoke through his lips, scratching his beard, crossing one foot over the other. 

"You're doing it again," Aragorn said. "I thought I told you it isn't customary to stare."

"I think we've passed what is customary."

They looked at each other and chuckled. 

"I suppose you're right," Aragorn said. "As always."

It was a cheap compliment, but Legolas felt his cheeks flush with colour. 

"Can I ask you something?" Aragorn asked.

 _Ask me anything and I will provide_. _My deepest fear_ , _my darkest secret_. _It is yours as much as it is mine_.

"Yes," Legolas said. He looked expectantly at Aragorn, who ran his tongue thoughtfully over the end of his pipe. 

"I was raised by Elves," Aragorn began, "and I am familiar with the culture. For instance, I know that sex and marriage are one and the same. Elves reserve their bodies for whoever they intend to spend eternity with, and once they bring new life into the world, they lose interest in such intimacies. When I became of-age, I considered this strange. For Men, you see, sex and marriage, though both are sacred, are not the same."

"What are they to you, then?" Legolas asked. He had no idea where Aragorn was going, but he didn't want him to stop. 

"Sex happens when two Elves desire each other."

"You mean, they desire their bodies."

"Depends," Aragorn said, waving his pipe to prove his point. "As I said, sex _happens_. A shared moment."

"A shared perversion," Legolas interjected.

"Not entirely."

"Alright. What about marriage?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't been married."

"But . . . you _have_ shared such intimacies . . . ?"

Aragorn didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"What is it like?" Legolas blurted.

Aragorn seemed taken aback by his question, but didn't scold him for being so blunt. He thought for a moment, blowing rings of smoke. "It wasn't how I imagined it would be. Never with Arwen, of course, considering she holds the Elven belief."

"With who, then?"

"Strangers, mostly. Nobody important. The first time was when I left Rivendell. I came across a young Man my age. I don't remember his name. I thought I would be anxious." Aragorn paused. He lowered his pipe and stuffed it with more Pipe-weed. "Instead, I was distracted. He clouded my mind with excitement, at first, though it didn't last long. When morning came, I dressed myself and left him. I never saw him again. There were others, of course. Some were meaningful, some weren't."

Legolas frowned. "I thought it was supposed to be more sacred than that."

"It can be. Perhaps I haven't explained it well."

Legolas stared into the fire. The smell of Sweet Galenas carried across the clearing. 

"Have I said something wrong?" Aragorn asked. 

Legolas wasn't sure. Like Arwen, like all other Elves, he had been brought up to believe that once he shared his body with another, he was married to them, and they would spend the rest of their long lives together in love. The idea of sex was something that scared Legolas, but also grasped him, and he couldn't shake it. When he took interest in Tauriel, sex hadn't crossed his mind. It was something too important and too grand for his simple attraction to her. 

No. Sex was something more. It had to be. 

"Legolas?" Aragorn said, bringing him out of his thoughts. "I disappointed you."

"No - I was thinking," Legolas said, his words tumbling awkwardly over each other. He was grateful Aragorn didn't point out the obvious; he was inexperienced when it came to sex. The mere mention of it had him stammering. Compared to Aragorn, he was a child. Wide-eyed, clueless, and longing to learn more without seeming too eager to be taken seriously. However, Aragorn didn't take advantage of him. He was too kind for that, which only made Legolas more frustrated.

"I shall leave you to your thoughts," Aragorn said. He flattened himself on the forest floor and rested his lead on a softened, moss-covered log. He closed his eyes without saying goodnight. He must've needed his rest more than he let on. 

Legolas stood up and paced the clearing. The fire flickered, hissed, and reduced to burning embers. He didn't bother to add more wood. He walked back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back, and his mind at unease. He had always considered himself to be more clever than others. He was an Elf, after all. He had seen and lived more than most, he had grown with his royal father at his side, he had read the ancient scrolls and books of wisdom. He had learned everything there was to learn . . . or so he thought. 

Of all creatures, it was a Man who made him question everything.

No, not a Man. It was _Aragorn_.

Legolas gazed fondly at Aragorn as he slept. He couldn't help but smile. _Oh, Aragorn_. There was something about him that drove Legolas mad. The darkness of his eyes, the low rumble of his voice, the sureness of his demeanor. He was everything that Legolas never knew he wanted. _Needed_. He was breathtaking and brave. He drank more than a Dwarf and smoked more than a Hobbit. He cared for his horse as he would a friend. Whenever he looked at Legolas, he _understood_ what he was seeing, and he respected him all the same. 

Legolas sat beside Aragorn. He placed his own cloak over Aragorn, keeping him warm. 

"What have you done to me?" Legolas whispered. He stooped down and kissed Aragorn's forehead, not unlike a mother would kiss her child. Legolas held his lips against Aragorn's forehead for a long, drawn-out moment, savouring the feel of his rough skin. When he pulled away, he wasn't entirely surprised to see Aragorn had opened his eyes. 

He had only been pretending to sleep.

They were so close that their noses nearly touched. Gazing into his endless brown eyes, Legolas knew he had never experienced a moment quite like this; a moment so perfect, so unblemished, that he was convinced he was lost in a good dream, and Aragorn was with him. He ran the pads of his fingers along the side of his face, tracing his jawline and feeling the coarseness of his beard, not caring if he seemed _too eager_ , because he understood, in that moment, his attraction was not one-sided. 

Aragorn never won the game. They both lost when they saw each other for the first time in Mirkwood. 

Legolas knew that now. 

Their kiss was soft and tender. Legolas was somewhere far away from the woods, far away from Middle-earth, and that somewhere was against the lips of a tall, dashing, handsome Ranger. Aragorn wrapped his arms around Legolas and pulled them both onto the forest floor. Aragorn moaned softly. It wasn't one of arousal, but affection. Legolas wanted to deepen the kiss. However, he refrained, as it was too gentle, and any sudden movement would surely shatter it. 

If an army charged at them, with a thousand soldiers armed with spears, blades, and bloodshed on their mind, Legolas wouldn't fight. He would die with Aragorn at his lips, wrapped in his arms, and he would be happy. 

When they parted, Legolas was full of warmth and comfort. He lay with Aragorn wrapped around him. No amount of armour could make him feel as safe as he was with Aragorn, his strong arms, his lips grazing his temple. Legolas, though he had no intention of sleeping, closed his eyes. The world around him dissolved. It was only Aragorn.

Eventually, Aragorn drifted off to sleep. Legolas knew he wasn't pretending from the steady way he breathed. He put a hand on Aragorn's chest, feeling his heartbeat. 

Legolas knew that, one night, they would gaze at each other across the fire, and they would share much more than a mere kiss. The thought frightened Legolas . . . and it was exactly why Aragorn was sleeping instead of undressing him at that very moment. He _knew_ that Legolas wasn't ready, and he wouldn't be ready for a long time. However, one thing was for certain. 

If Legolas was going to give his body to anyone, he wanted it to be Aragorn.


	4. To Speak or to Die?

The third day of travel began with the forest floor sprinkled with morning dew, the sunlight creeping through the trees, and the cool breeze blowing through the bushes, spreading the smell of sweet berries and honeysuckle. Legolas awoke from a pleasant dream, only to find himself laying alone, his own cloak wrapped around him. He immediately searched for Aragorn.

"I was under the impression that Elves don't sleep."

The familiar voice was music to Legolas, who smiled, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He saw Aragorn standing near his horse, readying the saddle with a leather pouch of freshwater. It was the most beautiful sight Legolas could have seen first thing in the morning.

"Whoever gave you that impression was sorely mistaken. Have you been awake long?"

"Perhaps an hour."

"You should've woken me."

"You needed your rest, dear Elf," Aragorn mused. He mounted the horse. "If we leave now, we can make it to the Coast before noon."

"Are you in a hurry?" Legolas asked. He crossed the small clearing, passing the ashen remains of the fire he had made during the night, and mounted the horse. He tucked his legs behind Aragorn and grasped the fabric of his tunic. He was tempted to bury his face into the crook of Aragorn's neck and breathe the smell of Man, but he resisted the temptation. Instead, he contented himself with the tunic between his fingers.

"I've seen nothing but trees and grass for weeks," Aragorn said. "As a wise Elf once told me once, I think we need a change of scenery."

Colour rose to Legolas's cheeks. Aragorn took the reins of the horse, and they continued their journey through the forest. 

* * *

As Aragorn predicted, they reached the Coast before the sun reached the highest peak in the sky. The ground beneath them turned to bright, yellow sand, littered with smooth stones and shells. Waves rolled against the shore, spraying seafoam and salt.

Aragorn and Legolas dismounted. They removed the heavy saddle and reins, allowing the horse to run freely across the shore. 

"So vast," Legolas remarked, gazing at the endless ocean. 

"When was the last time you've seen the ocean?"

"Decades ago, before Tauriel."

The mention of her name brought Aragorn to silence. Legolas dared to assume he was, perhaps, _jealous_ of the thought of her, and though it pleased him to imagine Aragorn upset with the idea of Legolas's infatuation with anyone else but him, he forced the thought from his mind, knowing it wasn't only incorrect, but immature. As they undressed themselves, Aragorn cursed loudly. 

"What happened?" Legolas demanded, already reaching for his bow and arrows. 

Aragorn had thrown off his boot, revealing his bare foot, on which were two small, bloody punctures. A pale-coloured snake slithered away, but this was the last thing it ever did. Legolas drew an arrow and sent it through the snake's skull. He then dropped to his knees and held Aragorn's foot with both hands, inspecting the wound.

"Don't worry yourself," Aragorn said, looking at the dead snake. "I've been bitten before. The venom is harmless to any creature greater than a rodent."

"Venomous, nonetheless. Let me help you."

"I told you not to worry yourself."

"Aragorn," Legolas repeated, his voice sharp, "please."

A strange look fell over Aragorn's features, but tentatively lowered himself to the ground, ending the argument before it had a chance to begin. Legolas took an arrow from his quiver. With the pointed blade, sliced two intersecting lines across the snake bite. Even with his hands, he handled the arrow with precision unmatched by any Elf or Man in Middle-earth. Legolas lowered the arrow and began to bring his mouth to the wound.

"Legolas, you don't have to," Aragorn said quickly.

Legolas placed his lips on the puncture and sucked the venom and blood into his mouth. The taste was metallic, almost unbearably so, but he spit it into the sand, and repeated twice more for good measure. Once satisfied, he used the same arrow to tear a piece of cloth from his cloak. He wrapped the cloth around Aragorn's foot, securing the wound.

"There," he said, admiring his work. "The saltwater will help."

When Legolas turned to Aragorn, he was surprised to see fear washed across his face. Aragorn stared at his bandaged foot, which Legolas held so tenderly. Had Aragorn been stunned? Had Legolas crossed a line when he placed his lips on Aragorn's foot, such an impure part of his body, and had the gesture suggested something other than concern for sucking the venom from his blood? Had this aroused him?

No. There was something else. Aragorn had gone stiff, not with arousal, but detachment. 

Legolas didn't understand.

"Saltwater," Aragorn said vaguely. He pulled his foot away and continued removing his clothes. Once he was down to his undergarments, he left Legolas and waded into the water. In the distance, their horse galloped merrily across the shallows, kicking wet sand and seaweed, and whinnying freely.

Legolas watched the distant figure of Aragorn as he submerged himself into the water. If his foot was in pain, he didn't show it. 

How had they kissed the night before, fallen asleep in each other's arms, and ended up not speaking? 

Legolas removed his cloak, folded it neatly, placed his boots on top of them, and followed Aragorn into the crashing waves.

* * * 

They spent the afternoon in the water. Legolas stayed close to the shore, but Aragorn ventured past the drop-off, past the highest waves, sometimes disappearing completely into the blue-green sea, frightening Legolas, only to resurface minutes later. Legolas couldn't stand the silence. He couldn't understand what had made Aragorn become so distant; what had he said? Done? Suggested? Had the venom gotten to his head?

When evening came, they returned to the sand. Aragorn broke the silence, but not really.

"I found these," he said, dropping an armful of oysters into the sand. "I saw wild mushrooms on our way here. I can go collect them."

"I shall go with you," Legolas offered.

"No. Stay here. We need your eyes to guard the camp."

Legolas was hurt by the curtness of his response, but he let Aragorn disappear into the trees. 

When Aragorn returned, he carried an armful of wild mushrooms. They ate the oysters and mushrooms, listening to the seagulls crying in the distance and watching the evening sky turn into a deep shade of orange. Despite the beauty of the sunset, Legolas was far from at peace. In fact, he had been mulling over Aragorn's silence all afternoon, and he came to a bold decision. He turned away from the seagulls and the orange sky, and looked directly at Aragorn, who shucked an oyster with a small dagger.

"Why did you react the way you did?" Legolas asked. 

Aragorn continued shucking.

"You know what I mean," he added.

Aragorn popped open the oyster and stared at the juicy meat inside. "The truth will frighten you. Though, I assume you want to know, anyway."

Legolas waited patiently for his response. 

"I . . . was surprised." Aragorn handed the freshly-shucked oyster to Legolas, then began shucking another. "Nobody has ever shown such concern for me. Not the way you did."

"I will always care for you," Legolas stated.

"I know. That's what scares me."

Finally, Legolas understood. "I don't want to scare you away. That's the last thing I want."

"What do you want, then?"

"I want you to feel about me, the way I feel about you."

Aragorn stopped shucking. He looked at Legolas, who sat straighter, showing he was sincere. If he had frightened Aragorn before, he couldn't imagine the damage he had done now. He made himself vulnerable by telling Aragorn exactly what he felt, what he thought, and what he wanted. It was up to Aragorn to decide what to do with him. Somehow, Legolas wasn't frightened, even though he should've been. He watched Aragorn as he always did; with interest, admiration, and desire. 

Aragorn must have also understood the weight of his response, because he handed the second oyster to Legolas, putting their conversation on hold. Once again, they were not on speaking terms, but this time, Legolas wasn't the one to fret over how the silence would be broken.

* * * 

Legolas and Aragorn sat around a crackling fire. Their horse had returned to them, covered in sand and seaweed, refreshed after a day of roaming freely across the beach. It drank the freshwater from the leather pouch and retreated into the safety of the treeline to sleep.

"Where did you find her?" Legolas asked, watching the horse.

"She used to belong to brigands. I took her."

"And the brigands?"

"I killed them." Aragorn said this with no trace of remorse. Legolas gazed at his sword, which was sharp, but clearly well-used, telling from the grooves along the blade. Legolas wondered how many lives Aragorn had claimed with the sword. Had they all been brigands? Had they all deserved to die? Legolas remembered the innkeeper from Bree, who had warned him about Strider and the trouble that seemed to follow him. What did Legolas really know about the Man sitting across from him, tracing his fingers in the sand, the reflection of the fire shimmering in his brilliant blue eyes?

Legolas circled around the fire and sat beside Aragorn. He gently cupped the side of Aragorn's face so that Aragorn could look nowhere else; his gaze was firm on Legolas, on his eyes, on his lips. 

"Why are you so full of fear?" Legolas asked softly. 

"I want to kiss you."

"You can tell me. You can trust me."

Aragorn merely brushed his lips against Legolas before burying his face into the crook of his neck, leaning his weight into his slender body. Legolas hadn't expected this response, but he welcomed it wholeheartedly. He wrapped his arms around Aragorn and comforted him as best as he could. He felt the scruffiness of his beard as Aragorn kissed Legolas's neck, his collarbone, and stopped when he reached his chest, placing his hand over his heart. 

"The love I once felt for Arwen doesn't compare to the love I feel for you," Aragorn whispered. "Within these three days, I've felt more than I have in a lifetime, and it frightens me."

"Aragorn . . ."

"I remember when I first saw you," Aragorn continued, "when I came to Mirkwood, years ago. I remember seeing you across the hall, standing among the royal Elves. You were the prince. You were the most beautiful, most breathtaking creature I had ever seen, and I wondered why such an Elf as the prince would gaze at me, as if there was something about me that fascinated you, even for a moment. I know how foolish it is . . . but then, three days ago, I find you again, and you wish to travel with me? You wish to speak with me about love, you wish to suck the venom from my feet? How could I feel anything but fear?"

"I would do much, much more for you," Legolas whispered.

Aragorn gazed at him with both incredible fear and happiness. The great and noble Ranger had become who he truly was: a Man. Flesh, blood, and bone, with a heart that loved, eyes that cried, and lips that craved a lover.

Aragorn ran his hands through Legolas's long, silver-blond hair. Their lips met passionately. This kiss was different than the night before, which had been delicate and tender. This kiss was one of intensity. Something caught flame inside of Legolas, who gasped slightly when Aragorn pressed his weight on top of him, pushing him to the ground. Trapped between Aragorn and the sand, Legolas was helpless, not that he would consider trying to flee. 

Legolas tasted Aragorn's warm, soft tongue against his own. He had never tasted another tongue before. A part of him scolded himself for not doing this sooner, while the other part of him was too distracted by Aragorn's fingers brushing through his hair. He attempted to reciprocate the ferocity of their kiss, but he was swept along like a boat caught in an ocean storm. 

And then, between his legs, Legolas felt himself harden.

Hundreds of years being raised among Elven beliefs caused Legolas to feel embarrassed, but this quickly passed when Aragorn gazed at him, not breaking their kiss, and his eyes were filled with understanding and encouragement. Legolas was mesmerized as Aragorn slowly dragged his lips across his jawline and throat, stopping in the dip between his collarbone. "If you wish me to stop, only say the words."

"Don't stop," Legolas panted. Eagerness had gotten the better of him.

Aragorn, who heard his desperation, began to pull away. "You're not thinking clearly. I won't do anything that you will later make me regret."

Legolas scrambled to think of a reason that would make Aragorn understand he could never hurt him, could never make him regret a single moment between them, regardless of the consequence. How could he make him understand, with a few, short, feeble words, that he, an Elf, had fallen for him, a Man?

"Aragorn," Legolas began, "I . . . I trust you with all that I am. You must trust me, too." He cupped Aragorn's face again. He weakened when Aragorn's eyes fluttered shut from the gesture, and he leaned into his hand, showing he needed Legolas, too. 

"Shall I pleasure you?" Aragorn asked meekly.

"Yes, please."

Aragorn kissed the palm of Legolas's hand before scaling down his body. His gaze flickered upwards, watching Legolas closely for any signs of doubt, but he found none. He effortlessly untied the string of Legolas's trousers and lowered them enough to reveal his cock, which had the same colour and feel of a pale, pink peach. A gasp escaped Legolas when he felt Aragorn's sure fingers wrap around him. He pursed his lips, attempting to silence himself, to control his own arousal. He clamped his eyes shut. 

Legolas knew from the masterful way that Aragorn moved his hands that this wasn't his first time, but he didn't think about the others who had been in his place. Instead, he created a fantasy in his mind that he was the only one Aragorn had and would ever touch so intimately. His breath hitched when he felt Aragorn's tongue slide underneath his cock. The wetness, the warmth . . . it was enough to drive an Elf mad. 

"Aragorn . . ."

"Do you wish me to stop?"

"No . . . never stop . . ."

Aragorn, who took orders from no creature, did as he was told. He brought his mouth around Legolas's cock, which already began to drip, and bobbed his head up and down, his pace slow and controlled. Legolas, however, failed to maintain any sort of self-control. His hands had minds of their own. They grasped the sides of Aragorn's head, following him up and down, up and down, until a great wave of pleasure overwhelmed him. Legolas gasped weakly and loudly as he spilled into Aragorn's mouth. His body seized with something intense, something he had never experienced before. 

When his mind cleared, and his body returned to him, he opened his eyes and saw Aragorn watching him closely.

"Aragorn?" He said breathlessly. "Did you . . . ?" He couldn't finish the sentence, but his answer was given when Aragorn wiped the trace of come from the corner of his own lip and licked it from his finger as thoughtlessly as though he was licking icing from a cake. Aragorn resumed his position on top of Legolas, one hand on either side of him, keeping him trapped between his body and the sand.

"Did you regret that?" Aragorn asked. Even during the most passionate moment between them, he was concerned for Legolas's well-being.

"No," Legolas said confidently. 

Aragorn smiled. He placed a soft kiss on Legolas's cheek before laying beside him in the sand. 

"What about you?" Legolas asked. "Shouldn't I return the favour?"

"Another night, you can do with me as you please."

"Tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow."

Wrapped in each other's arms, they listened to the sound of the ocean waves rolling onto the shore, and stared at the endless night sky of stars above them. They were kept warm from three things: the crackling fire by their feet, the closeness of their bodies, and the promise of whatever enchantments tomorrow night would bring.


End file.
